Not Exactly Concession
by thirdmetaphor
Summary: There's a thin line between friendship and love and Hashirama doesn't like boundaries. HashiMada. A kind-of love story. In-progress.
1. Last Words

**Not Exactly Concession**

Plot Summary: Hashirama and Madara settle on armistice and reluctantly allow their friendship to progress towards something more. Meanwhile, Tobirama arranges his brother's marriage to Uzumaki Mito.

Pairing: Hashirama and Madara

Warnings: Minor spoilers.

Rating: M. In my opinion, 16+.

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**I – Last Words**

* * *

The very first thing Madara ever said to him was, "what the hell are you wearing? Are you _trying _to look like a hermit?!" and the last had been simply, scratched unforgiving onto the smooth surface of a skipping-stone, _'Run'._

Hashirama spent the next five years with that memory pressing against the front of his mind. A dazed inauguration ceremony declared him leader of the Senju, and Tobirama's not-so-subtle pushes navigated him through life as clan head, but he never forgot the fact that Uchiha Madara still had a chance, and that maybe there was a possibility to exploit it for all it was worth no matter how furiously his friend and rival fought against him during battle.

And his fights were adrenaline-worthy but brutal, without a speck of recognition in his red eyes. The sentiment that Era of the Warring Clan was reaching its peak washed through the land and everyone waited to see what the ones who held power would do. Hashirama tried his best to accept every Uchiha that defected to them, but it remained painful to see Madara during the next skirmish, and catch a glimpse of the raw sense of betrayal masked beneath his stoic features.

And after their eleventh skirmish since that last stone had been skipped, Hashirama stopped one of the Uchiha defectors with a kind hand on his shoulder, and he frowned when the boy flinched at his touch.

"I just wanted to ask you something," he clarified.

The Uchiha boy promptly bowed so deeply he almost fell over. "Anything, Hashirama-dono!"

"I… wanted to know how Madara is doing," Hashirama asked him quietly. He reached forward to pull the boy up with a firm hand on his shirt, watching the late sunset glimmer across his newly darkened irises. The boy's face scrunched into an expression of pure confusion.

"You… you want to know about Madara-sama?"

"Yes. We were friends once."

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. "_You _were friends with _Madara-sama_?" Judging from his tone, Hashirama might have confessed to being in love with the man.

"Yes. Is that so hard to believe? Answer my question."

He remained silent for a while, quietly spluttering while finding words that would help him maintain his position as successful defectee. Hashirama wished he would simply tell the truth, but the Uchiha were taught strange things and one had to drag truth from them. Finally he loosened up and muttered a reply.

"You might be pleased to know that he cannot hold out much longer, Hashirama-dono. There is a reason a few of us have chosen to leave our clan. There are not many Uchiha left, and we were slowly loosing all of our trade routes and medicinal supplies, so the smallest infected scratch is a death sentence. About Madara-sama himself… he speaks to no one but Hikaku-sama, and Izuna-san has recently passed away, along with the rest of his advisory council."

Hashirama's eyes searched his face, but it seemed the Uchiha boy was really trying to make an effort to tell the truth. Then it was true. Madara's situation was bad, and he continued to wage war with nothing but the sharp blade of his pride. It was so typically him that it brought a slight chuckle to Hashirama's lips, and the boy seemed to take that as satisfaction.

"I'm glad this news pleases you, Hashirama-dono," he said earnestly. "The Senju will soon become the most powerful clan in Fire Country and despite my bloodline, I will do anything to contribute to its success."

Before he could protest and say that no, he was not satisfied, and that anger boiled inside him from the thought that his former friend was torturing himself and his precious clan, the boy had run away. Hashirama was left staring after him as he navigated the dead bodies strewn over the field.

He wondered how many more battles the Uchiha could manage. The next one would be soon.

And along with the dread came a sense of excitement because there was a certain allure to watching Madara fight. His fury was an elegance that Hashirama could never match and every one of his motions was the step of a dance, from the way he would bend his knees and set his feet sturdily against the ground to how the lean muscles of his arm flexed when he lashed out with his ganbai. Hashirama had once tried to tell himself that maybe he could forget about their friendship over time and let the old scars heal in peace, but he knew that he couldn't while Madara's were harsh and raw.

~x~

"Nii-san, I've brought the trade agreements from the Sarutobi clan," Tobirama waved a sheaf of papers under his nose while he sat at his desk in the Main House of the Senju compound. "Look, they've signed it. At least _act _happy, will you?"

Hashirama peered over the papers, picking out a few words here and there. "Rice," he finally sighed. "They're giving us rice in payment for a part of our well-cultured land. This contract is completely beneficial to them, and does absolutely nothing for us. We already have all the rice we need from the Seichi clan of Tea Country. What are we going to do with more of it, ground it up like sand and put it in the ink bottles?"

His brother sighed deeply and sat down across from him. He knitted his fingers together over the table in a mock semblance of supreme maturity. Before he had died, their father had told Tobirama he had become a fine man. But sometimes Hashirama thought he would benefit from a different company than ancient daimyo and taciturn Senju council members, because he was becoming a total block of ice.

"You don't understand, nii-san," a touch of irritation entered his voice. "Put that legendary intellect of yours to use sometime."

Hashirama drooped. "I'm… I'm sorry," he muttered. "Go on, please enlighten me to the extent of my idiocy."

A rough finger jabbed against the map of Fire Country that was spread out over his desk. "We don't need the land we're giving to them. All of _this_ land belongs to use as well, and it's perfectly usable."

"That's a swamp, Tobi."

"And you're a Mokuton user! Can you not turn it habitable within a day?"

"Only if you tire me out." Hashirama sighed. He glanced over the contract once again. "So you're telling me we're giving them something easily replaceable, and they're giving us something just as replaceable. What a clever trade contract you've come up with. You've been coming to me with a lot of these things recently. I remember you created a trade with the Akimichi clan, giving them sugarcane in return for chopped _wood. _Since when have we needed _chopped wood _of all things? Are you contingency planning for my death?" He finished at a perturbed tone and waited for his brother to explain.

Tobirama maintained a patient silence, and then slowly laced his fingers together. "The benefit," he began, "is a tactical one which has been turning our war with the Uchiha. You see, I agree that it is wrong to waste the lives of our clan members on the battlfield, but there are different ways to fight."

A cold dread struck Hashirama, and he began to piece together what had been happening. Mutely, he nodded for his brother to go on.

"This contract is a siege to their food supply," Tobirama explained. "The Sarutobi clan cannot provide to them anymore in fear of incurring our anger, and we can afford to pay more for what they sell. Over the past few years I've drafted agreements that have deprived them of sturdy cloth for bandages, medicinal herbs from Suikazura, wood to make practice kunai, and now of rice. They can only last so much longer without supplies, and eventually they will have to concede defeat. This war can end peacefully."

He listened to it all without saying a word, and was left strangely weak-legged when Tobirama had finished speaking _What the hell?_ His brother's eyes shone with pride for having outwitted their enemies and Hashirama wanted to act correctly, wanted to lay a hand on his shoulder and tell him he did well, but he couldn't bring himself to think of anyone but-

Madara was dragging this out when it had no right to consume so many lives.

Without a second thought, he stood up and laid his palms flat against the table. "Tobi, call off this contract with the Sarutobi clan. I will be back late today." He shrugged on his haori and slung his tanto back into its sheathe. His brother watched worriedly.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere that concerns you."

He left, swinging the door close behind him.

~x~

Despite everything, Madara had never stopped visiting the Nakano River, forlornly skipping his stones to the other side while he read bloodied paperwork and shredded some of it to pieces. Hashirama knew this, and he watched from between the trees sometimes, because by the Sage his old friend was a sight for sore, over-burdened eyes, and within the forest he was unnoticeable.

This time, he strode directly towards the riverbank. Eight hours past noon. The time Madara came to the Nakano every fortnight. He was already there, stone in one hand, poised to throw. When he sensed Hashirama approaching from behind, he stilled in surprise, and watched warily for a single provoking move. Instead of starting a fight, Hashirama moved to pick up a stone from the riverbank.

In one smooth move, he slung it across the river and grinned when it skipped, one, two, three times, then hit the shore. "You have to swing your wrist like this," he explained, and when he turned around Madara had already drawn his gunbai. Ignoring that, he moved to pick up another stone. "But I suppose you already know how to skip them properly now."

"Are you mad?" Madara asked, low-voiced. His permanent Sharingan scouted out every inch of the riverbank, eternalizing their surroundings in his mind like he did every time they fought, and the bare tilt of his face was a breathtakingly elegant thing.

For a moment Hashirama was tempted to give in to the fight if only to watch Madara dance in battle once again. But he remembered Tobirama's words and pasted a smile across his face instead. "No, I've come to offer an armistice."

For a moment, Madara remained silent, wondering if he'd finally lost it. Then, slowly, he unfurled from his battle-position. "Right. What kind of trap is this, now? Is your damned brother here?"

"I'm offering peace," he pressed. "And it's not something you can refuse, either. I know how bad your situation is."

He could see it for himself, even if the defector hadn't already told him. Madara's features were gaunt and his cheekbones pulled at the length of his face, making him look five years over his actual twenty-one. His Uchiha-style haori practically draped off the sheer leanness of his form, and though he hadn't relented one ounce of muscle he'd evidently paid for it with his health. He was in no position to refuse kindness, but Hashirama knew he'd have to find a way around his ineffable pride.

"Stop joking, Hashirama!" Madara raised his gunbai warningly. "If you wish to battle here, far from where your clansmen can come save you, then fine. We will finish this."

"No! No, I didn't come to fight. I came to talk with you. And offer peace. And maybe skip a few stones like we used to do," he held up his palms, and his voice dropped. "Let's stop this, Madara. It's gone too far."

"You don't have any idea," Madara seethed. "Your peace-be-thine ways are laughable. I'll end this here."

He frowned. "You will lose. You know that."

To this there was no reply, because his opponent knew, and the fact of it was painful to both of them.

Without hesitance, Hashirama kept his palms open and raised. "What will it take to convince you, Madara? What do I have to do to gain your trust? I'll do it, whatever it is. I know that you're a man of your word."

There was silence by the Nakano, leagues of it. Unwanted images of Izuna with bandages over his eyes rose up unsaid between them and Hashirama gulped but told himself he wouldn't take back his words.

"You caused my brother's death," Madara said quietly. "The only way it can ever be redeemed is with your brother's death… or with yours." He seemed almost pained in saying it but his words came out unmistakably clear.

"Oh," Hashirama said happily. "I knew I could reason with you."

And with that he drew his tanto from its sheathe and plunged it into the side of his stomach.

* * *

This will be updated rather sporadically, because I have a whole list of long one-shots that I work on in parallel.

Feedback?


	2. Alliance

…Are more than three people reading this, though? Doesn't look like it, but I am surprising myself with my commitment to writing this. I never get nearly as much feedback on this account where I write mostly HashiMada, but I like this pairing too much to complain.

This fic is planned out to around ten chapters. It's not completely written yet, but it's planned.

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**II - Alliance**

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When Hashirama woke up, he was able to register four things. He was no longer lying on the grass of the riverbank. He was on some sort of futon, and the sheets below him were wet and sticky. There were hands pulling bandages tight around his midsection. The hands were cold, cold like all the blood had rushed from under their skin.

He cracked open one eyelid and maneuvered himself upright onto his elbows. Madara was there, standing above him, bloodied hands slipping through bandages that had already been rendered useless by the amount of fluid they'd absorbed. As soon as he moved, Sharingan eyes were set on him. Unreadable.

The pain surrounding his stomach subsided into a dull throb and he put together that he had fallen unconscious before finishing the slash of seppuku. It would be embarrassing to anyone else, but Hashirama healed himself in battle so often and so frequently that his pain tolerance had fallen rather low.

Madara hadn't finished him off, or left him for dead. Madara had brought him to one of the gatehouses at the edge of the Uchiha clan grounds. The room was small but filled with the smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood, and he could just barely make out the cloth-like smell of Madara's haori, he was sitting so close.

"So does this mean it's ok if I don't die?" He asked slowly. The words came out gurgling with blood but he withheld his healing until he was sure.

After a moment of quiet, almost imperceptible shaking, Madara finally discarded the bandages, allowing them to fall uselessly onto Hashirama's stomach. His lips were pressed into a tight line. "I've… seen your resolve. It's fine. I don't think I could possibly cooperate with that insufferable brother of yours without your presence there, anyway."

"Oh, good," Hashirama grinned as he sat up. Then he looked down to his stomach. "You know, one length of bandages this thin wouldn't even hold in a scratch. You should be fairly good at this by now, given how often I would win when we sparred as boys."

"Like I'd waste more on you!" Madara seethed, withdrawing with the bloodied strips. He let them sink to the bottom of a wooden pail of water by the futon, and Hashirama thought of telling him that it was unwise to reuse them but he bit down on his words at the strange look in Madara's eyes. Infections were the last thing the Uchiha needed to worry about. Any man needing too many resources would be worthless to them in battle.

He sat up after his wounds closed. It was already morning, by the light streaming in through the rafters above. He'd been there the entire night and so had Madara. Tobirama would have launched an entire siege by now.

When he made to climb out of bed, Madara cleared his throat.

"I need to go find my brother," Hashirama explained. "So that he doesn't start killing things. I'm sure you're aware that he's rather good at killing things."

"I've sent a messenger already. My clan is sending a response to the proposal of alliance that you sent us three months ago. Your brother has been informed of that, and told that we are negotiating it ourselves. He'll probably storm the compound if the 'negotiations' last _too _long, but if he has any inch of diplomacy in his thick head he'll avoid direct conflict."

His smile was pained. "N-negotiations? He'll think we're fighting to the death…"

"Good." There was something in the faint undertones of his voice that betrayed more. _Let him think you're in danger, _it said. _Let him know what it's like to fear for his brother's life. _

Hashirama caught none of this. So he simply swung his legs off the bed and tried to detach his clothes from his chest where they had dried with blood. Why hadn't Madara removed them? Was he _that _bad of a medic? He shrugged out of his haori and folded the cloth in his arms, barely noticing how Madara's Sharingan was no longer focused on him.

"Will you let me come with you, then? I'm sure I could talk to your clan council about some of the more subtle aspects of the agreement-"

"No," came the sharp reply. "Outsiders are not permitted into the inner clan grounds."

"Isn't that rule a bit outdated?-"

"I implemented it."

"-well I'm sure you know best," he amended quickly. "I'll just head back to assure Tobirama that neither of us has killed each other." He stood, bare-chested and shivering in the slight breeze drafting through the patches in the wooden walls. Madara went to lean against the wall of the small gatehouse, arms crossed. His eyes lingered briefly – checking for injuries, maybe? – before snapping up to Hashirama's face.

"You can leave?"

Was that a question? Hashirama blinked. "Er…"

Madara gestured vaguely at his midsection.

"Oh, don't worry about that," he relaxed. "Has it been that long since we fought? I can heal most physical injuries quite easily, if you remember."

But they both knew that he didn't remember, because he had never laid an injury so deep on Hashirama, even when they were evenly matched in battle. The injustice of it carved resentment in him, something built up slowly since the days they'd sparred as children. Madara was the heir of the Uchiha, the owner of the most powerful doujutsu still in existence. But he couldn't defeat the boy with the baggy clothing and the bowl-cut hairstyle, and the fact that the boy couldn't entirely defeat him either didn't register with his Uchiha pride.

But the memory of Madara's shaking hands slowly wrapping bandages, the feeling of his cold fingers, stark against his slow and slightly-feverish breaths, all of it gave Hashirama hope.

He wondered if it was possible to rebuild their confused friendship.

~x~

Ten hours later, Madara's hand felt warm in his as they shook.

Fifty people around them. Thirty-one Senju in their proud, loose robes. Nineteen Uchiha wearing solemn black. Emblem of the fire-taming fan sewn painstakingly into their clothes. Dripping with the pride they never lacked.

Madara was wearing something different from his usual clothing. He stood in all of his battle regalia, with red armor glinting in the light and his ganbai slung across his back. This was how Hashirama knew him best. He knew that his friend felt more comfortable in that heavy armor than he did in anything else. He knew how elegantly he danced in battle, and was pleased that Madara considered even this a dance, worthy of his dancer's clothes. A dance of their two hands, held together for the first time since Hashirama had corrected his pebble-tossing technique.

He looked nervous. That was the only way Hashirama could describe the stiffness of his body, and the complete blankness of his expression. To even the Uchiha standing nearby, _Madara-sama was in a terrible mood and anyone who went near him would be rolled into pieces of inarizushi and eaten alive. _But Hashirama spotted the way his eyes never lingered on one thing for too long, as if unsure where to rest their gaze. The ways his hands were gloved, and maybe – just maybe – the warmth that emanated from them – so different from the cold hands that had touched him earlier – meant his skin was wet beneath the safety of those gloves.

He noticed the things a friend _should _notice, beyond what others cowered at. And he found himself hoping that Madara would be the same, that Madara would pick out the dorky smile that hadn't once left his face since the alliance had begun and know that he was just as nervous. If only he would _look _at him…

A disembodied voice somewhere announced the rest of the treaty in political-sounding drone. The pact between their clans was solidified. Seventy years of war reversed by the stone he'd skipped that day.

The golden leaves of late autumn crunched beneath their feet as they released hands, and Hashirama almost felt that Madara had left something of him behind in his palm.

~x~

"I don't like this," Toka stated. "Not at all. There's something strange about it." She tapped her fingers against the council room desk, and Tobirama watched her icily, mentally urging her on.

"Hmm? Why is that?" Hashirama hummed to himself while doodling on the edge of his clan's paperwork. "We've finally reached the point I've been waiting for, a time where our dream of unity can be drilled into the heads of everyone else."

"Well, if even a warmonger like Uchiha Madara can agree, I suppose we should all just be one happy family." His brother placed one fist firmly against the desk. "Is that what you think? That he's just going to sit by like a housebroken dog? He, the man who's known nothing but war?"

The scratch of brush of paper paused immediately, and Hashirama looked up with a warning in his eyes. "Tobi, go help our dear council allocate land. I'm sure everything will go quickly with your insight."

He was the most feared man in the country, but no one in his clan could possibly be afraid of him. No one would think of fearing the man who went around giving cheeky looks to the Senju children and sneaking senbei from the stands when the owners weren't watching. He preferred this sort of anonymity, his presence was too strong to enjoy otherwise. But sometimes, it was lamentable that this meant those who really knew him – Tobi and Toka included – saw him as someone incapable of true anger.

He was capable.

Tobirama detached himself grudgingly from the table and left in a rush of his white collar, leaving him alone with his sole advisor.

The silence pervaded for three long minutes. Then Toka spoke.

"What did you do? That look he had was not something I've ever seen in Uchiha Madara's eyes."

"Madara-sama," Hashirama corrected almost absentmindedly. "Address him properly, he's your co-ruler now."

It was a widely known fact that no Uchiha dared to refer to their leader as casually as the Senju referred to Hashirama. Among outsiders they all said simply 'Madara', as in, _he's ours, and we can call him this, but if you do the same we'll strike you down. _But within the clan the whisper of propriety shrouded Madara's name. And they were allied now, they were the _same, _and through he knew it would never come to be, he still wished that Madara would one day acknowledge the Senju clan as much as he did his own.

"Let's worry about that when he's within hearing distance, Hashirama," Toka continued lightly. She gestured towards the west with one hand, fingers ink-stained from her work. "They number three hundred now. That is two hundred less than I remember from when I was a girl. Two-fifths of their clan was wiped out, not by battle but by strife and illness and maybe even hunger. And during the last ten years, most of which Uchiha Madara has ruled as clan leader, they have lost fifty men and perhaps even more women. Do you trust that man to help you rule over this new village of yours?"

Cleverness was something Toka embodied. She gathered all the pieces on the table and made them play for her, and while this was an important trait in an advisor it made her a disaster of a confident. But his father had chosen her as a council member, and he couldn't bring himself to let go of that last piece of Senju tradition, his father's one legacy that he hadn't yet changed. After all, the only other memories he had of his father were repressed, along with that of his mother. Most children of war had long repressed those things. They always involved the same, anyway. A head, bashed open, or sliced cleanly from the neck. Armor strewn, clothes slashed in bloody streaks.

So Hashirama pressed his lips together, determined to have at least one other viewpoint that wasn't his well-meaning but cold-blooded brother.

But her point was worrying. Tobirama had investing far too much time in depriving the Uchiha of their resources. How had Madara provided for his people? The boy he'd once known was persistent and strong, but he was not a miracle-worker.

Ignoring that thought, Hashirama sighed and smiled kindly. "I was his friend once," he told her. "I think I know him well, and I can imagine that he would have tried his best. It is admirable already that he was able to stand up and take leadership even after his brother died. I don't know what I would do if someone targeted Tobi, but it would involve an unhealthy amount of sake." He tried to keep his tone light but she didn't laugh.

"Be careful," Toka finally consented. "People aren't the same as the children they once were. Excepting you, of course," she went on dryly. "You haven't changed a bit, Hashirama."

He answered with another limpid smile, and then returned to his paperwork as she left.

He would ask Madara later.


	3. The Girl from Whirlpool

I'm working on coming up with a different title, but I'll give you one chapter's notice if I change it.

* * *

**III - The Girl from Whirlpool**

* * *

It took a week for the Uchiha to sort themselves out, and for Madara to reluctantly convince his council members that the Senju weren't planning to murder them all in their sleep. During this time, Hashirama was entirely on edge. He paced through the compound with his agitated air and sprinkled worry everywhere he went but Toka and Tobirama followed him around and made sure he signed what he needed to sign.

It was on the ninth day that he had the opportunity to see Madara again, this time at the edge of the small mountain pass, overlooking the land that they had claimed for their village. He was standing there with his arms crossed and his brow deeply furrowed.

"It won't be large enough," he muttered absentmindedly as Hashirama came to stand near him. "We'll have to clear those far ranges as well." It didn't go unnoticed that he stepped away slightly. Unconsciously trying to move out of range.

"Leave that to me, I'll take care of the construction. It would be nice if you went around to the border clans while I do that," Hashirama replied. They needed people. More people. Not just Senju and Uchiha. They needed the Uzumaki, the Hyuuga, the Aburame, every minor clan in the region with a bloodline jutsu to their name. And they needed civilians, people who could work with their hands. People who knew how to farm land, how to sew clothes, and how to harvest the strange fruit of Fire Country's forests.

A curious half-smirk briefly passed Madara lips before disappearing. His fingers dug a little deeper into his arms, and he still kept his eyes out on the landscape. "That isn't wise. I will clear the land, and you can go interact with those imbeciles."

It had only been one week and two days and Hashirama could still feel the outline of their Uchiha heir's hand in his own, shaking firmly. This was fine. He would indulge his co-ruler. Madara was a very inward person, after all. He chose the people he spoke to carefully, and Hashirama was too drunk off being one of these people to care for the general truth. So he nodded and knelt down by the cliff's edge, enjoying the way the autumn breeze pulled at his long hair. A part of him wondered, wondered how far he was planning to go for their friendship.

"If you like." _Anything you like. _"But I still think they're worthy people. Strength isn't a measure of value, is it?"

Madara looked at him as if he were spewing nonsense. "You're a fool if you think it isn't."

Well, that was fine too. He would be a fool. It wasn't like Tobirama had any other endearing terms for him anyway, so 'fool' it was. Hashirama gave him a wide grin that said it all.

"Hn," the other man sighed. "Fine. They'll be useful either way. Just be quick with it and don't waste resources on any one group of people. If they're stubborn then raid them and be done with it."

"Raid?" Hashirama's smile skidded to a stop. "What do you mean? Are you referring to their jutsu? Bloodlines can't actually be preformed by others, can they?"

Madara gave him a look that conveyed every inch of his cynicism. "Why would we need their jutsu? I'm referring to land, resources," _food,_ "weapons," _bandages and medicines, _"the important things."

The words made him pause and drew dread from the pit of his stomach. Raid. _How had Madara provided for the Uchiha? _This was how. An unlikely truth, and he said it with all the nonchalance in the world. It was strange how much he didn't know about Madara. About the Uchiha in general. His father had told him they were all despicable men, and every tiny fragment of support to this tore at his sense of diligence to the path he'd chosen.

The sky darkened while he thought, settling into the grey-blue of dusk and tossing a light breeze into the silence between them. He looked up to find Madara looking at him strangely and returned a watery smile.

"Er, I'd like to think we can manage without doing something like that. Your clan has... raided in the past?"

"Haven't we all?"

"No, not as far as I can remember." He answered truthfully and was rewarded with the sudden reserved look in Madara's eyes, as if he'd withdrawn to where he'd been before they shook hands that day. Back to cold looks that conveyed nothing but the blow of a ganbai and the metal click of a kusarigama. When he spoke his words were clear like ice.

"Well, as long as we're here, we might as well decide what to call this village."

Hashirama blinked and filed away his previous thoughts for later. "Well, I was just going to call it 'The Village', actually. Why not? It's not like there are any others."

"You fool, what if this strange idea actually succeeds and the other countries begin to copy it?"

There was an edge of annoyance to those words and Hashirama quickly blurted out, "you can decide. I'll leave that up to you. Tell me when you come up with something."

He left Madara standing there at the cliff's edge as he walked away, brushing off the wrinkled leaves that the wind blew into his clothing.

~x~

They are fifteen, and that is a good age to be in any time. Uchiha and Senju, and somehow, sitting here, Hashirama is aware of this. Sitting here. Legs splashing into the cool water of the river.

"...aren't you?"

He looks up at Madara. "Hmm? I didn't catch that."

The boy folds his arms over his chest and glares back, and his eyes are far too cold. "Aren't you? You are."

The river water flows evenly over the surface of his skin and why is it waist high? It only came up to his knees seconds before and now it laps at Hashirama's neck. He panics, squirms around until his face breaks clear into the air and Madara is still staring at him, arms crossed, eyes frozen.

"I was warned about people like you, _Senju_."

And at this he freezes, feels the ultimate fear of his fifteen-year-old self, lets the river water flood into his open mouth before spluttering, rushing forward to grab at Madara's sleeve which is strangely dry and _he knew this was a dream_ but that doesn't stop him from protesting at the top of his lungs-

"We're friends! Friends, Madara, doesn't that count?! I don't care about being a Senju!" Otou-san would beat him up for the words he's saying but he can't pause to breathe even when Madara struggles out of his grip and turns his back-

"Wait, Madara wait," said furiously.

And then the water stops, and his arms are full of an Uchiha boy as they pitch forward together onto the dry sand of the river bank, falling in a tangle of arms and legs and Hashirama pins him down, water dripping off the edge of his nose.

"We're... friends, right?"

"I won't befriend a Senju."

"But-!"

"Let go of me or I won't hold back."

Hashirama isn't sure what to say to this so he remains there, looking down at his friend, wanting to spew out _what about our village _but not having the voice to say it.

"Get off."

He doesn't.

And then Madara is moving up towards him and for a second Hashirama thinks he's about to head-butt him before their mouths are suddenly pressed together. And it's surely a kiss because Madara isn't exactly speaking into his mouth so for that second he relaxes, lets his muscles loosen their hold, tentatively moves his lips against his friend's.

And then Hashirama's mouth is full of blood as Madara kicks him aside brutally and disappears.

~x~

The next morning, it was Tobirama who woke him up with nothing less than a splash of ice water across his eyes. Despite that, Hashirama kept his eyes fiercely shut, clinging to the bare remnants of his dreams.

"Nii-san, you're scheduled to meet with the Uzumaki today," his brother droned, watching, thoroughly unimpressed, as his clan leader curled further into the sheets of his futon.

He didn't reply to this, but he sat up slowly in bed and stared blankly ahead, still blinking away his thoughts. The dream was fading. He didn't remember it anymore. But he remembered the last few seconds and that was all he needed.

"Are you awake yet, or do you need some motivation?" Tobirama flexed his forearm.

"Quiet!" Hashirama snapped, and he was met with complete silence.

Had it been a dream or a nightmare? Was this how he felt about losing his alliance with the Uchiha? But then why...

Tobirama was standing silently by the bed, waiting.

"Go meet them yourself," Hashirama commanded. "You are perfectly capable of handling this, Tobi. I will stay here and assist Toka in scouting land borders."

And his younger brother took one look at his expression and nodded quickly, disappearing in a rustle of his Senju clothes, leaving Hashirama alone in the room.

Why...

Why had he been dreaming of that?

~x~

The Uzumaki clan was small, scattered along the small western coastline of Fire Country, built well among the swirling pools of water just where the Naka River bled into the sea. Mito knew every one of these by heart. She knew where to find the glittering salmon that were crushed into the stones at the bottom of the whirlpools, and she knew how to swim directly into the pools and draw up the oysters found near their dead bodies. How to break them open and pull out their pearls.

Every Uzu girl knew this, because these were the pearls they painted with seals and wove into their hair. But Mito's hands were twice as skilled as the second-best among them and when a foreign man from deep within the forests came to the edge of their small village and asked for their leader, the boys who guarded their gate came to her.

"There's no actual leader among us, oji-san," she explained to him while sitting in the main-house. She was dressed in her second-finest kimono, a rush of glimmering cloth that was painting entirely with seals for safe travel. "Not since my grandmother died, anyway. And I'm not even her oldest descendant, so you'll have to keep in mind that I can't speak for all of them."

"I... I see." Across from her, Senju Tobirama was sitting perfectly still. When Hashirama had told him that the Uzumaki were not an organized clan, he had expected to see uncivilized people. Not an eighteen-year-old girl with elegant hair that pooled at her waist like his brother's. It took most of what he had to not correct her address, but he disregarded that in favor of reciting the invitation Hashirama had had him memorize.

"I came here to offer your clan a placement in a village that we are building. We've... heard quite a lot about your skill with fuuinjutsu, and it would be valuable to have in the kind of society that we are building."

"A village," Mito tilted her head to one side like an inquisitive bird. "Uzu is a village too, one I've lived in all my life. Why would we pack up and move to yours?"

Tobirama ran a hand through his hair and went through a momentary struggle for words because he had just about as much confidence in his brother's vision as the average Uchiha. When he managed to piece a few sentences together in his head, he spoke stoically. "I mean a larger village, Mito-san. A place where more than one clan can live." In words, it sounded even worse to his ears. But nii-san had faith in this terrible idea and he would therefore try, at least slightly.

He would not, however, be reduced to working with Izuna's brother. Their village could contain as many Uzumaki and Aburame as it wanted, but the Uchiha would cause trouble eventually and Tobirama was prepared to be the one to shoulder it when his brother's blind optimism failed.

"So you want to take clans that are living in their own communities and force them to live together, is that it? Slightly presumptuous, isn't it?" At the suddenly distant look on his face, she waved a hand before her. "Don't misunderstand, oji-san. I like this place, but I do want to leave it and explore. I just can't say the same for all of my people. This is our home, after all."

Hearing this, Tobirama sighed, prepared to spew more formality and then leave with his dignity somewhat intact. But... somehow, something kept him sitting there. He looked up again with slightly more vigor. "Mito-san, haven't your people been attacked by neighboring clans?"

The girl frowned. "Occasionally. We can defend ourselves with our jutsu." She sighed. "You can't disconnect my clan from our home without any insurance, oji-san. As exciting as your idea sounds, we're a small people and we'll be left with nowhere to go if this village does not work."

"But we would offer you safety," Tobirama said seriously. "Even if the village falls to a civil war, my clan would be willing to protect yours. It's much larger, even if we don't have any widespread bloodlines."

She looked at him steadily with a question in her eyes, making it as evident as if she'd asked.

Tobirama pondered it. He let his gaze brush over her, pausing from her red, red hair to the wisps of chakra that almost emanated from the folds of silken kimono cloth around her body. He hadn't expected to talk to anyone like her. She was... different. Not quite as beautiful as the traditionalism of the Senju women, not what he was used to, but she had her own strange charm.

Nii-san would like someone like her. They would get along well.

So without thinking further, he told her, "my clan is very... attached to blood relations, and we would consider you family. In fact, my brother is looking for a wife and I think you would like him."

Mito's lips quirked into a smile. "You seem determined to drag us out of our homeland."

"We need people," he replied earnestly. "And you need resources and protection."

Mito deliberated on this. But eventually, her sense of adventure let out and she nodded slowly, brushing imaginary flecks of dust off her kimono. "Fine, I'll speak to my clan." They were a peaceful people, and she was very aware that they would willingly follow her out of the country if she convinced them well enough. Uzumaki Mito had the gift of a silver tongue and she knew how to use it.

"I'll relay that news to my brother," Tobirama stood, and she remained sitting, which he would have considered a heinous social crime if her eyes hadn't been so completely mesmerizing. Despite that, he nodded briefly in her direction and turned to leave.

"Goodbye, oji-san," Mito waved at him loosely.

Before he exited, Tobirama paused, and looked back briefly. "Your hair... I've never seen that color before," he muttered.

She allowed a smile to inch across her face. "And I've never seen white hair on anyone but old men, oji-san."

* * *

Feedback?


	4. Clear as Fire

So sorry for the long wait this time, but unfortunately final exams are almost here ^^". I thought I'd finish this chapter now so I'm not tempted to write when I'm supposed to be studying.

* * *

**IV - Clear as Fire**

* * *

His brother hadn't returned by evening and it was clear that he would be spending the night out at the southern borders of Hi no Kuni with the few men he'd taken with him. Meanwhile, Hashirama was dutifully dragged out by Toka, who took him to the borders of the land they'd claimed as part of their village. She was a shrewd woman who knew how to get him to work.

"A village isn't just a place," she informed him as they stood under the shade of the forests' oak trees. "It needs a wall. We need to build a wall, and decide where the boundaries will be. You can't let just anyone enter."

"I know. I'll build one. But first we must wait for Madara to clear the forests." He sunk back against a tree trunk, ignoring his advisor's disapproving look. The roughness felt wonderful against the back of his sweaty shirt.

"How is he going to 'clear' it? The Uchiha don't have enough men to justify not using your mokuton." She stood with her arms crossed, watching him expectantly.

He grinned. "I'm sure Madara will find a way that will satisfy his pride. We made a deal that he would take care of it as long as I took care of meeting with other clans. Although I've left Tobi to do that too, so I suppose I've just slipped out of my work."

With that Toka sighed and took a seat on the ground beside him, folding her legs beneath her in a way that would definitely make her regret the position within minutes. He knew the inevitable question would be asked and waited for it patiently.

"Hashirama... is it true? The rumors that you had been Madara's friend once?"

It hadn't been revealed by his father, or his brother. Both of them had wanted to avoid the shame of having a family member known to associate with the Uchiha. As a result, no one had known, no one except one Uchiha traitor who he'd told almost absent-mindedly on the battlefield, without thinking of the consequences. But Hashirama was someone who focused on ideas instead of details, and some things had been let slip. Rumors had inevitably spread, and Toka had been giving him interesting looks since she'd come to meet him at around noon to discuss land boundaries.

"Yes," he nodded. "I was his friend. And we were good friends. Good friends who didn't know each other's last names. If every child in the village I build has the opportunity to have a friendship like that, all of my work will be worthwhile."

The sternness of her expression softened, but there was still some lingering mistrust. That would take time, and he was nothing if not patient. It would only be beneficial if she spread the word that their clan heads had once been friendly. It would mean they knew how to be friendly again, and the people worried more about that than any other triviality.

At that moment, they heard a snap echo through the landscape.

A shouted voice came from the far side of the forest, deep and bellowing until it reached their small clearing. Toka leapt up immediately with her hands already together, eyes seeking any wild animal or presence of an enemy clan. Hashirama spent a moment with his shoulders stiff and then relaxed when he recognized the presence in the distance.

"Hashirama that was a jutsu I heard!"

"I know, calm down. He's over there," Hashirama stood slowly and pointed up at the face of the cliff. Halfway up, at a solid ledge jutting out of the cliff, stood Madara, a small figure in the distance. His hands were carefully balanced together, and his expression was skewed with concentration. He stood shirtless, with a barely distinguishable pile of cloth beside his feet. As they watched he leaned forward into his hands and blew through the space between them.

"I suppose this is how he's going to clear the are. We don't need to move, we're at the border so we should be fine."

"Is he mad!?"

"Well, maybe. But he'll do it anyway."

And he did. They had to avert their eyes to avoid the raging flames that shot down from the cliff face, magnified by the strength of his jutsu. They spread out over the thick forest in a blanket of red. Animals rushed away and hid underground as quickly as they could and Hashirama felt indignant for all of five seconds before realizing that at least his men would find hunting much easier for the next season. He looked back, blinking the heat from his eyes, to see most of the trees before him razed to the ground.

Nearby, Toka gaped. Her mouth opened and closed with some mixture of awe and discomfort before she finally settled on a neutral look, leaning down to press her hand against the ground. "It doesn't harm the soil too much, at least. We'll need it for the people who want to farm."

"Of course," he replied absently. "Go back to the compound, I'm going to see if he's free to discuss some other things."

"Be careful, idiot leader of ours," she muttered at his back as he walked away.

~o~

He only caught Madara halfway back to the Uchiha compound, right where the forest met the stream-like remnants of the Naka River. The place where they once met as boys, where Madara still visited almost daily, maybe because it was where the river was clearest. When he pushed aside the trees to make his presence known, Madara was standing barefoot in the river, wiping the glistening sweat off his chest with the cloth he'd brought with him. His head shot around as soon as he noticed Hashirama, and he raised an eyebrow.

Hashirama went to sit by the bank, fingers loosely twined. "That was impressive. Even I'd be hard-pressed to make my jutsu work at that scale."

"Then you must have grown weaker," Madara replied tonelessly. He returned to dipping the cloth in the river. His every muscle was guarded, as if he still expected them to launch into battle at any second, and was cursing himself for having revealed himself at low energy.

And yet it was hard trying to convince himself that he wasn't admiring the planes of his friend's chest. "I don't think so, my brother tells me otherwise and he's an embodiment of harsh truth so I think I can trust whatever compliments I drag out of him. He's gone to see the Uzumaki now."

"Unloading your duties on someone else? Typical." For some reason he wasn't using the cloth. Only holding it in his hand, dripping over his feet.

"No, no, I'm here to accomplish another duty. I wanted to ask you if you had an idea for the name of the village yet."

Madara paused. "I'll tell you later, when I have time for a meeting."

"No," Hashirama frowned. "Now is just fine. We're friends, and friends don't need to book meetings with each other. Don't you remember how we used to meet at the most ridiculous times? Once during Tanabata I couldn't get away until two in the morning and you'd already fallen asleep against that rock over there," he pointed, almost nostalgically. "Why does that have to change just because we're ten years older?"

"Because we're ten years older, dolt-

"_Oi! Wake up! If I can't get a rest then you can't either, Madara!"_

_The boy wakes up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and wincing at the kink in his neck. Hashirama looks down at him tiredly, determined to drain whatever's left of the day of its entertainment before he goes to sleep. _

"_You told me to wait here if you were late," Madara yawns. "I didn't expect you to be _this _late, so I thought I'd at least rest to have energy for our spar."_

_Hashirama looks vaguely disturbed. "Spar? _Now? _It's two in the morning, I have no energy to spar with even if you do." He shuffles forward until he's sitting beside Madara, with both of their backs against the same sturdy rock. _

"_If we're not going to spar, then why did you come? I can't even sleep in peace..."_

"_I came to protect you from the bugs," Hashirama announces. He then helpfully adds, "they're the reason why we _don't _sleep outside near bodies of water."_

_Madara glances over his clothing. "I don't see how those tiny things can actually hurt me. There aren't any poisonous ones until you reach where the forest is thicker, thick enough that you can't walk through it anymore. Here is fine."_

"_Well then I came to keep you company, because that's what friends are good for."_

"_You're terrible for it. Or maybe I just have a bad case of second-hand embarrassment..."_

"_Oi! I don't make a fool out of myself that often!"_

"_You do."_

_Hashirama rests his head against the rock, with his growing hair tickling the base of his neck. He looks up at the blackness of the sky. "You know, I only act like a fool because oka-san once told me that fools never receive great reputations of intimidation. I didn't really want to be known as intimidating, so I decided that I'd make myself known as kind of a fool just so I can still talk to people like they're on the same level as me."_

"_That's... a pretty condescending thought for a kid."_

"_It was a true thought, though!" He protests. "I can't say too much, but I was born more powerful than most of the children of my clan."_

_Madara's brow is furrowed slightly. "Yes, I can imagine, if you're able to keep up with me."_

"_Then you should try it. Try being a fool sometimes. Otou-san always told me that people are born with different levels of power and it's not always fair, but those like us should at least make use of what we have to be strong for the others who are born weaker. I didn't agree with him on lots of things, but some of what he says makes sense, in a weird sort of depressing, adult-ish way."_

"_Stop saying things like that. They sound so weird coming out of your mouth," Madara huffed. He then adds, in a quieter voice, "your otou-san sounds just like mine, though."_

_They didn't realize when their hands had started overlapping, but neither of them take any notice of it when they stand up to leave._

-and my clan no longer celebrates Tanabata. It's a useless festival."

"Was draining the happiness of your people the first task you took on after you were appointed, or the second?" He asked, not without a hint of cheek.

Madara frowned. "Your horribly familiar sense of humour aside, I will book an appointment to discuss the name of the village. The day after tomorrow at five in the morning." The cloth stood still in his hand, and his bare back glistened with sweat.

"Fine, we'll discuss it then. For now I'll stay here and reminisce while you finish so we can head back together."

His friend looked distinctly uncomfortable. "At least face a different direction."

Understanding settled in and Hashirama grinned widely as he glanced at the cloth and at Madara's bare chest. "Oh, you still can't do these things when others are watching?-"

"Just be quiet and look away."

So he hid his smirk and turned around.

~o~

Tobirama returned late the next morning, halfway through Hashirama's morning kata. He waited patiently by the training grounds until his brother had gone through every impeccable stroke and then approached with a sealed letter in one hand.

"You're back," Hashirama smiled warmly and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I hope the Uzumaki kunoichi didn't chew you out."

"They did not. In fact, they accepted our proposal," Tobirama replied. "Along with another proposal."

"Hmm?"

"A marriage proposal. I thought it would be wise to unit our clans by having you marry the Uzumaki princess. She's an agreeable girl, you'll like her."

Hashirama's mind froze. For a few seconds, he remained still, trying to silence his internal screaming. Then he gave a strained smile. "An... agreeable girl?"

"Yes. And somewhat pretty, in that strange and unconventional way that non-Senju women are."

The morning around them was clear. Clear as Hashirama's mind as he sifted frantically for an excuse and failed to find once, still wiping absently at the sweat lining his forehead.

A girl. Marriage.

The only women he knew were those among his counselors, and his mother had died too early for him to achieve a semblance of what married life was like. He was too drenched in the world of battle and politics where shinobi soldiers blurred before his eyes. All he had to offer were brief nights with half-drunk older women on festival nights. He attempted to convey this to Tobirama with the blank look in his eyes, and he could tell that he was failing.

"You can't get out of this one, nii-san," his brother told him dryly. "I've already told her about you, and she seems interested. Although she's such an absentminded girl that she seems interested in almost everything... nevertheless, make sure you look somewhat pleasing next week when her clan arrives. We've made preparations to escort them into the village as soon as construction begins, and you'll look horribly underdressed beside her if you appear in your usual clothes."

Hashirama placed a soothing hand on his brother's shoulder. "Look, Tobi, I don't think it's such a good idea to marry your brother off at the drop of a pin like this. Maybe we should consider-"

"You're willing to sacrifice your life for this village, but you won't sacrifice this decision?" Tobirama shook his hand off and raised an eyebrow. "It's unlikely that you'll find someone you like in any other way, and for the sake of the female population I really hope that you won't turn out to be one of those men who start chasing marriage at the age of sixty."

His brother usually had a point to make when he was like this. It was generally a pointless point – the sort of point that never crossed a mind like Hashirama's – but a point nonetheless. He had no interest in marriage anyway, and maybe the girl would be a nice person. The Uzumaki were a good ally. He would have preferred to marry a Hyuuga if his marital position had to be used for an alliance, but the Uzumaki had many powerful secrets as well.

He sighed, and gave him a mournful look. "Fine... how old is she?"

"Eighteen, I think. But she looks slightly older, and maybe you'll like that."

Hashirama rubbed his temples. "Stop pretending that you're taking any of my interests in account."

"Fine, I'll stop," Tobirama replied bluntly. "Just make sure you're ready to leave to meet the Aburame clan. We leave in five hours."

With that he left his newly engaged and thoroughly depressed brother behind.


End file.
